


Rational Paranoia

by TheQueen



Series: Forge [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Humor, Canon Compliant, F/M, Gen, Lance is a hot mess, Pidge won't stand for his shit, Starboy: A Lance Zine, Trapped, Zine Work, can be read as platonic or romantic, even though she loves him, left purposefully vague
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-13
Updated: 2017-12-13
Packaged: 2019-02-14 10:42:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13006071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheQueen/pseuds/TheQueen
Summary: A story of Lance and Pidge, crashed on a hostile planet, waiting.My Starboy: A Lance Zine piece





	Rational Paranoia

Thank god for small mercies. They are beyond lucky to have landed on a planet with oxygen. Clean water is more than he could have ever hoped for. With both, camp is easy to set up.

Pidge glares from her place on the rock. She’d just woken; her forehead still caked in blood, a makeshift splint tied securely around her leg. Thanks to either the pain she’s attempting to hide or the sheer insanity of their situation, she hasn’t said a word. Finally, just looking at her makes Lance feel sweatier than he already is. He orders them both inside.

“Don’t argue.” He curls in next to her. He can make the tent bigger, later. Depends on how long they stay. “Just sleep.”

When he wakes, it is night. The jungle echoes with sounds he could give to bugs and birds. Pidge is already up, staring down at her bayard with unseeing eyes. “Pidge?”

She shakes her head, not listening. “Tau Four… Someone betrayed us. There’s no way the Galra could have known we were coming.” She looks at Lance. Her eyes glow in the dim light of her bayard.  “They could come for us. We need to keep moving.”

“And go where?” Lance hisses, carefully sitting up as she starts to make her way out of the tent. She is breathing carefully, moving awkwardly. He remembers her knee. “Pidge, what are you doing?” The jungle heat is bearable now, but he can still feel it like a weight around his shoulders. He wants to rest. Why won’t Pidge rest? He grabs her ankle. “Pidge stop!”

“Let go,” she snaps. It’s loud, louder than it should be. Pidge struggles for a moment, either to let go or get him off, but Lance keeps his grip tight out of nothing but fear.

Something, somewhere nearby, howls.

“Stop,” he begs. The tears surprise them both.

“Lance…”

“Stop, please.” Lance pulls her close and forcing her to lie back down. “Please stop hurting yourself.” His cheeks are sticky with tears and sweat. He doesn’t understand why he’s crying. She’s okay. She’s still here. He sniffles and wipes the tears away with a dirty glove.

It takes her a while to apologize. By then he’s fast asleep.

.

It isn’t long until they realize they’re not the only inhabitants on this planet.

They’re… primitive is not the worst word Lance could use. From his place in the trees he watches a group of hunters return to their settlement with animals slung over their backs. They’re huge, a good five to ten feet taller than Lance. He watches one of them lift a boulder the size of a small man and throw it casually into the jungle. No. Not something he’d want to fight. The last thing he would do is endanger Pidge’s safety.

Pidge disagrees, insists they should ask for help. He doesn’t listen. When he approaches, late at night, it is with a simple plan. They need food to eat and cloth to bandage.

He has not spotted a patrol yet, but still, he is careful not to make too much noise. He has weapons but he does not want to draw them.

The cloth is easy to find, hanging on large drying lines like in small towns back home. The huge yellow and red fabrics move like flags signaling the end of the jungle. He takes just one for now. He makes his way to the large storehouse in the center of town, surprised at how easy this is. The lock, like most things here, is primitive - shaved stone and wood instead of smelted metal. He breaks it with his hands. Inside hangs the drying meat.

He isn’t quiet enough. He hears them coming, their voices high pitched and full of sharp clicks like the way he imagines a bug would speak. He glances up to see a large figure running towards him, silhouetted by this planet’s many moons, and runs as fast as he can.

But it is no use. They are faster. Bigger. He draws his gun and fires and does not wait to watch the body fall. As soon as he breaks the jungle perimeter, he hides high in the hovel of a tree and waits two hours before daring to return to Pidge. He does not tell her he was almost caught. She is relieved he returned, more interested in the animal he brought back than his lateness. She considers hunting for game in the valley but Lance is uncertain; he does not want to run into the aliens.

He cuts the cloth into strips and re-bandages Pidge’s wounds as she talks animatedly about studying the wildlife.

.

Rescue seems more and more like a pipe dream.

Lance makes a bigger shelter. Pidge tries to help, but Lance reminds her she needs to take it easy. They’ve been lucky to stave off infection. A few more weeks and she should be able to walk without a limp. Best to be careful. Safe.

She disagrees, forces herself up and demands to help. It’s the first time their voices grow loud enough to scare off the wildlife. The bird-creatures scream as they take off into the air, a true murder. In the aftermath, neither can bear to make a sound, their ears still ringing.

But Lance can compromise. He lets her braid rope.

.

“You’re growing a beard,” Pidge remarks as she lounges on her rock.  

Lance squints, trying to force the pieces of the broken water filter to make sense. “No I’m not,” he decides even as he feels the itch of stubble along his neck. He misses his face creams and his razors and his shower. He really misses his shower. River baths leave much to be desired.

She hums and says nothing for a moment, then: “I’m probably getting my period soon.”

Lance looks at her. He’d just finished changing her bandages and wonders at the way the slightly off-white color blends into her sweat-stained skin. Then he closes his eyes and runs the numbers: food, bandages, fabric. They don’t have much. “We’ll figure something out.”

.

They take off Pidge’s splint a few days later. She’s weak - bambi legs - and Lance insists on more rest. She doesn’t like it. They fight. They fight often. Lance is too tired to fight. When she’s done, he moves them both to the tent without much fuss. It doesn’t take long until she falls asleep.

He watches her. The bruises are fading. The cuts are healing.

He looks away.

.

Nightmares are common. Pidge is careful when she wakes him - small pressures along his arms and head are enough. He’s trained to sleep lightly even exhausted as he is. Pidge, younger and not so trained, is held captive by her nightmares.

One night Lance pins her against the forest ground and places a firm hand to muffle her screams. When she wakes, she has the nerve to ask him why he is crying.

.

Pidge insists on helping, on arguing.

She’s still weak. It’s clear to both of them that her wounds are taking longer than they should to close. In a jungle, there is always a risk for infection. Lance considers, for a moment, asking for help. But the aliens have been encroaching on their territory; their patrols making larger and larger circles away from their valley. Asking for help is dangerous.

Pidge disagrees. It is something else to argue about.

But Lance can compromise. When she takes watch, he lies on the floor of their tent and waits.

.

Then a morning comes when it all catches up to him. The sleeplessness. The fear. The tension.

He passes out halfway back from the river with a bucket of water before he can understand why his vision is suddenly blurring.

He wakes up to screaming.

“Lance! Lance!”

It’s enough for him to jolt up, to reach out and grab, wild and unseeing. He knows those screams and he’s shouting back before he can understand, hands finding soft hair and glasses and a round, bruised face. “Pidge!” he gasps. “Pidge, are you okay? Are you hurt?”

When he blinks and manages to make his eyes work, he realizes she’s crying. “Did something hurt you?”

He reaches for his gun and starts scanning the area for the enemies that hurt her. They should be moving. Was it Galra? The aliens? He looks at her again, running his hands up and down her arms as she stares at him with wide eyes. No visible wounds.

“Are you serious?” she says finally, when he forces himself to his feet. For a second, he feels a bit dizzy.

“We have to leave. Was it the Galra?” Lance frowns. Why is she still sitting? They should be running.

She shakes her head before bursting into laughter.

“Pidge?”

“I thought you were dead,” she gasps, body still shaking from the laughter. “I thought...I thought you died, attacked by an animal or those aliens you refuse to talk to or somehow the Galra had showed up. I…” She stands and wipes her cheeks. “I was so _scared_ , Lance.”

“I’m sorry…” And he is. He should have been… better.

“I’m not injured anymore.” She looks at him like she’s trying to find something, understand something. “I don’t need you to run yourself into the ground.”

“You’re still weak,” Lance argues. “You need to rest. You-”

“And you?” Pidge cuts him off. “When’s the last time you’ve slept? I know you refuse to nap.”

“That’s not important. Your safety--”

“Of course it’s the point!” Pidge argues. “What am I going to do if - if the galra did show up? And you can’t see straight because you think it’s above you to take a _fucking_ nap?”

“You almost died, Pidge!” Lance cries.

She stares at him for a moment before shaking her head and looking away. “You’re not the only one afraid of losing someone.”

.

It takes a while for him to join her at the lake.

“I should have been sleeping better.” Lance says, sitting next to her.

She snorts and pulls her knees in close. She’s so small from this angle. And she’s growing thinner. They both are. How long has it been? Them stuck here. “Is that what you’re going to lead with?”

Lance tries again. “You were right.” He waits a moment for her to respond before looking at her. She’s staring out at the lake, face unreadable. “I-I might not have been as rational as... I’m sorry.”

She nods. “You’re an idiot, Lance.”

He laughs but it doesn’t come out right. “I can’t do this without you. When I found you… I thought you-” He takes a deep breath. “I thought I was too late, that you were already dead and I was going to be trapped out here alone.”

She sighs. “How did you think I felt? Every time you left? Every time I wasn’t sure you’d be coming back? I need you too,” Pidge reminds him. “I don’t want to do this alone anymore than you do.”

Lance looks up.  “What are we going to do? If no one comes for us? If the lions don’t get better?”

“Survive.” She shrugs. “Don’t be such a defeatist. We’ll figure it out. Together.”

He grins. “Yeah… you’re right.”

This time she takes the bait. “I always am.”

**Author's Note:**

> Oh gosh I can't believe I finally get to post this. I'm so excited to share this story with you. I think I wrote six versions of it before finally landing on this piece.
> 
> Starboy: A Lance Zine has been such a huge passion project and I couldn't have done it without the amazing work of my Co-Mod, [Dylogger](https://dylogger.tumblr.com/), and our amazing creators! Thank you so much for the 480+ people who bought a copy and the thousands of people who supported our zine through the creation process. 
> 
> Also a special shout out to my artists, @bakaandie, whose talent is awe inspiring and my beta, [Onoheiwa](https://onoheiwa.tumblr.com/), who continues to make me look way better than I actually am. Love you guys!! <3
> 
> Finally, if you'd still like to support our work check out the Lance Zine tumblr here: <https://lancezine.tumblr.com/>


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